


these memories follow you around

by CupcakeBatter



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeBatter/pseuds/CupcakeBatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late night conversations and sneaking around - the aftermath of their kiss in 1x05.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't get these two out of my head for some reason and was frustrated with the lack of fic available about them so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I'll likely add on a couple of chapters at a later date, as they're my new obsession. Feedback is much appreciated! Enjoy.

Hooking up with Frank was never part of the plan. Not that she _has_ a plan, but if she did, this would definitely not be a part of it. She honestly didn't mean for that kiss to happen. But there they were, spewing insults and somehow the term personal space lost all of its meaning and suddenly he was _right there_ and before she knew what was happening, their anger escalated in what can only be described as a desperate kiss.

A pretty damn good kiss, too, and she hates herself for thinking about it like that even now as she's lying in bed with her boyfriend, mind restless.

She gets a text a few minutes later from a number she doesn't recognize. What she does, however, recognize is the shirtless guy in the picture that's attached to the message. 

 

_still have a boyfriend?_

 

She'd laugh out loud if she wasn't lying in bed, wide awake at three AM, while her sweet, sweet boyfriend sleeps peacefully next to her.

The picture is exactly the kind of picture she'd expect Frank to take of himself – him, shirtless but well groomed giving the camera a sort of cocky but tired half smile. From what's visible in the picture, he has a pretty nice body. Not that she didn't already suspect that; she felt how hard his chest was under her hands during their kiss. She's sure he's no stranger to the gym.

His cockiness should not turn her on as much as it does. Stealing a glance over at Kan, she sighs before finally typing out a reply.

 

_In bed with him as we speak, actually._

 

She's pretty proud of herself for that comeback. With lack of sleep comes boldness, apparently.

A feeling in the pit of her stomach tells her this game they're playing will end really, really badly. (Another feeling in that general region of her body tells her it will end in some really mind-blowing sex – she thinks that feeling is what's responsible for her saving the picture and adding it to the contact she just created for him.)

It doesn't take long for her phone to ding with a reply from him. She curses under her breath and turns it to silent, glancing over to see Kan still fast asleep. She feels like what she's doing here is definitely wrong but she can't help herself – she hurriedly unlocks her phone and reads his reply, feeling guilty but also strangely giddy and excited.

 

_And yet there you are, thinking about me._

 

He's so right, and he knows it. It's infuriating.

The memory of their kiss replays in her mind for the millionth time since she stormed off earlier – it's more or less been on loop anyway – and she relishes in the memory of his hands on her. He'd been rough with her, grabbing her waist to give her just a hint of pain with the pleasure they were both craving so badly. She remembers the way their lips crashed together, both of them frantic in their movements, teeth clashing and lip biting, remembers how she wanted nothing more than to take that stupid suit off of him, how she wanted to wipe that smug little grin off his face. It's the closest she's ever come to hate sex and she has to admit, she gets why people do that now.

She feels like she's thirteen again, analyzing every single second of the kiss she can remember.

Ugh. She stares at the ceiling, eyes wide open. Life isn't fair, she thinks as she considers the fact that her perfectly nice, attractive and very naked boyfriend is sleeping next to her while she's lying here obsessing over a simple kiss with a random middle-aged man she works with.

He really should not be that attractive.

After daydreaming for what feels like an eternity, she's forgotten all about their texting back and forth. Her phone screen lights up, she can see it from the corner of her eye. She reaches for it. What exactly gives him the audacity to call her up at four in the morning, she doesn't know and she wouldn't answer if she wasn't already in a delirious state between sleep and reliving that kiss. 

She quickly wraps the blanket she's lying under around her and tiptoes out of the room.

Taking a deep breath, she finally answers. “What?!” she snaps, voice nothing more than a hurried whisper.

“Your lack of a reply to my text got me thinking you were either having sex with your precious boyfriend while thinking about me or having sex with _yourself_ while thinking about me and I thought I'd call and see if you'd answer to prove a point to myself,” he says matter-of-factly, as if this is just a casual business conversation. She's flabbergasted.

“You wish,” she retorts childishly, even though she doesn't actually mind his call _that_ much. She kind of wishes he was here right now so she could kiss the shit out of him, actually, “It's 4AM, Frank. Why the hell are you calling me?”

He chuckles. She wants to smack that smugness out of him.

“Now, now, don't raise your voice. Wouldn't want your boyfriend to catch you on the phone with another man at four in the morning, having what can only be described as a booty call.”

“I'm not going to-” she stops in her tracks when she hears steps behind her in the hall. Great.

“Everything okay?” A sleepy Kan, wearing only his boxers as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, asks.

She makes a hand motion to say that she needs a second and makes eye contact with Kan when she goes back to her phone conversation. 

“Can we talk about this tomorrow Annalise? I'll talk to them first thing in the morning,” she wonders vaguely if she sounds convincing.

She hears an exasperated chuckle on the other end of the line.

“You're not serious. Is he actually buying this? You sounded like a starstruck fourteen year-old just now,” she uses his dramatic pause to nod and say _yes, of course_ a few times to make this conversation seem less one-sided, “Poor guy is so clueless... You know, I could keep you on the phone and you'd have no choice but to listen to me whisper dirty things in your ear while you pretend to be having a work related conversation with your boss,” he snickers.

She closes her eyes for a brief second, mind going down the gutter immediately but quickly opens them again when she remembers who's standing across from her.

“Yes, I'm gonna go through the files again. I'm sure we'll figure something out,” she says, her voice shaking. How dare he do this to her?

“Dirty dreams, _Lauren,_ ” she rolls her eyes for effect, “I'm sure I'll pop up in your dreams tonight. ”

She doesn't know what it is about his giant ego that she finds so damn attractive.

“You have a good night,” she puts on the kind of fake friendly tone she'd use if this was a real call for work at four in the morning, “We'll talk tomorrow.”  
  
She means that. They will. This can't go on. 

“I doubt we'll do much talki-” she doesn't let him finish that sentence and hangs up on him instead.

...

Kan doesn't even question her story, knows that these late calls sometimes come with the territory in their field. She feels guilty.

After, when he carries her back to bed and kisses her, she feels awful. She's a cheater and a liar. Yet, here she is, watching Kan kiss his way down her stomach while she wishes the hair she was holding onto was slightly lighter, and a lot more slicked back.

She wonders what that beard would feel like scratching against her skin in the most delicious of ways. 

After, when they both fall back against the covers, deciding it's high time they get some sleep, she turns away from Kan and sneaks her phone under the covers.

 _This isn't over_ , she texts and quickly presses send before she can change her mind. There's nothing she loves more than the iMessage feature that tells her he's read her text a few seconds later. Huh. So he couldn't sleep either.

 

 _It definitely isn't_ , he sends back immediately and she can feel her abdominal muscles tightening at his words.

 

Game on.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm usually not one for fast updates but, as it turns out, writing this chapter instead of a ten page research paper for sociology was a pretty easy decision to make.

Annalise's office seems as good a place as any to have your coworker bend you over a desk. The skirt she's wearing is certainly coming in handy right now. She's not sure how they even got here, what time it is or why the hell they didn't at least do this in _his_ office, but it doesn't matter now.

All she knows is that he's kissing her hastily, his hand in her panties, and she's ready to just tell him to stop all of this foreplay bullshit and take her right there.

That's when she wakes up.

Dreams, why must they be so cruel?

Damn that smug bastard for sneaking into her dreams.

She's disoriented, looking around in confusion when she finds she's all alone in her bed. Checking her phone, she realizes she actually woke up three minutes before her alarm was supposed to go off. She quickly disables it and sighs. A full day of classes and work will be fun on three hours of sleep. Especially considering how her subconscious keeps making her have all these thoughts that are definitely not safe for work; especially not when the object of her affection will be working alongside her.

Getting up, she walks by the kitchen on her way to the shower to find Kan already fully dressed, currently making pancakes.

She didn't even know there was any food in her fridge. Long days at the office have made her dependent on takeout.

God. How is he this perfect of a boyfriend? It's almost unfathomable to her.

“Morning,” she mumbles, stretching her arms over her head. She's cranky when she's tired, and at this point she thinks not even a gallon of coffee could change her mood.

She knows how she must look, standing there in just a white tank top and panties, her hair an absolute mess. It was a long night.

“Hey,” he says, momentarily putting down the spatula as he walks over to where she's leaning against the doorframe. He grabs her hips and is about to pull her in for a kiss when she pulls away.

“No no no, I'm gross,” she says motioning to her disheveled appearance, “Besides, morning breath is not exactly a turn on.”

He laughs, shakes his head and kisses her cheek.

“Go shower,” he motions towards the bathroom, “But hurry or your chocolate chip pancakes will be cold.”

She gives him a grateful smile and ducks out of the room.

Standing under the cold stream of the shower, she tries to get it together. There's no way she'll be able to face Frank today and keep her cool, not after that dream.

It's a vicious cycle. Just as she'll stop thinking about him or that kiss, or their conversation last night or hell, even the dream she had, she'll remind herself to stop thinking about all of it and it'll start all over again.

She decides to cut her shower short today and skips her usual conditioning routine, figuring nobody will care anyway.

Really, she just doesn't want to be naked and by herself with these thoughts any longer than necessary. It's dangerous territory that she'd rather not cross into.

After she's fully dressed again, going for an extra conservative look today, she walks back out into the kitchen.

Maybe it's the voice in her head telling her that Kan should be enough for her that makes her walk up behind him, still flipping pancakes, and throw her arms around him. He smells like her shampoo and it makes her giggle.

“What are you laughing at?”, he asks, trying to look at her over his shoulder since her current position makes it impossible for him to turn around.

“Your hair is extra shiny today,” she jokes, letting go of him so he can turn around, “Let me guess... is it TRESemmé Color Thrive?"

He chuckles as he leans in closer.

“You caught me,” he murmurs as he leans in closer, “Guilty as charged.”

Just before their lips meet, she pulls back.

“I think your pancakes are burning.” It's not like she's lying, either. She can smell it.

“Ah well, these were the last of the batch anyway,” he laughs, leans up to kiss her cheek and finally turns around to take care of the burnt pancakes. “Take a seat! Breakfast is served.”

It's moments like these when she wonders how she even found this guy. She's never been good at relationships, and wasn't even looking for anything serious when she met him. He's clearly not the type for casual relationships, and she thinks she could get used to this. To having him around to laugh with, to go out for movies and food, for impromptu sleepovers after long days at the office. It feels... safe.

She could get used to having him around, she could, if it wasn't for this thing – she doesn't know what else to call it – with Frank.

The thought of ever telling Kan about any of this kills her.

“Laurel?” He's sitting across from her at the kitchen table, shoving a plate of pancakes towards her. “Here, some sugar will help with the sleep deprivation.” He smiles at her.

She smiles back, takes the plate and digs in.

Damn it. Even his pancakes are perfect.

A bit too sweet for her taste, maybe, but then again, that seems to apply to everything he does nowadays anyway - only she would be complaining that her boyfriend is _too nice_.

She briefly wonders how Frank's skills in the kitchen are, but that just leads to her thinking about them in her kitchen, him hoisting her up on the counter, fitting himself between her legs, so she shuts down that line of thought and focuses on her pancakes.

...

Instead of getting the relaxed morning in class she was looking forward to, Bonnie interrupts class and they go straight to the office. Apparently this death row case can't wait.

She's not sure whether or not to be happy about this development.

The way she's looking at it is on a risk vs. reward basis – the risk of running into Frank at the house is about a million times greater than it would be at school and she's not sure if the reward, namely her being unable to focus on anything else around them, is worth it.

They're going through files, reading the case file from the trial in 1993. Wes is mysteriously MIA, and the others make some cracks about it, but she's not really listening. She hasn't seen Frank yet so she thinks her day is going okay so far.

Except every time she hears a door in the house open or close she wonders if it's him, if he'll just walk into the room now and make her lose the rest of her already limited concentration on this case.

They don't run into each other until she finally goes to get more coffee (her eyes are barely even open at this point) from the kitchen and he just walks up behind her.

She heard him approach so she's looking down at the coffee pouring into her cup on purpose to avoid eye contact.

“There you are,” he singsongs, walking around her and leaning in closer. “I thought you might be avoiding me.”

She thinks that's a pretty rich accusation considering he hasn't even been at the house all morning.

“You were the one out of the office all day.” She figures she might as well say it. “Is Annalise having you do some spy work?”

He walks back over to where she's standing, empty coffee mug in hand. She feels silly for noticing that apparently that's _his_ mug – it's the one he always uses and one time she took it, just to see what he would do and he basically stared her down in the kitchen until she gave it back and, yeah, maybe she's reading too much into everything when it comes to him. (Still, hearing him say that “being Frank's girl doesn't mean you get to use Frank's mug” is still something she thinks about sometimes because, yeah, the fact that he called her that himself was kind of hot.)

“What kind of spy would I be if I told you what I was doing?”

He gives her a cocky grin and she moves back a few steps because she doesn't really want to have to smell him right now – the smell triggers memories of last night that she'd rather not think about at the moment.

He grabs the coffee pot and pours some into his mug.

“Oh, c'mon,” he says, and it's already too lazy and casual of a remark for him to not mention what she's been trying not to think about all day – she can sense that he will. “Afraid you'll kiss me again if we get too close?”

Yes. She is. That is absolutely right.

But of course she can't say that.

She shakes her head in pretend disbelief, licks her lips and tries to think of something smart to say. She's hoping law school will help her with this whole thinking on your feet thing over the next few years because she's pretty awful at it.

“I think it was the other way around, actually.”

She reaches for a spoon at the same time as he reaches for the sugar, their arms barely brushing.

God, she can't deal with this sexual tension on so little sleep.

“We'll call it mutual, how's that?” That grin is back on his face and once again she feels the urge to slap it away. (Or kiss him to make sure he has no opportunity to look so smug)

“We'll call it never happening again, how's _that_?”

She stirs her coffee, determined to end this conversation now.

The tension is too much to handle before her third cup of coffee.

Their eyes meet, and she's sure he'd lean in and kiss her if Bonnie didn't choose that moment to conveniently walk into the room.

She's not sure whether she's glad about that or not, but she definitely takes the out the other woman is offering her, leaving the room and going back to the file she was reading.

She really can't deal with this today, on top of everything else. It makes her feel a bit guilty and selfish that a man is about to be killed for a crime he didn't commit and yet here she is, flirting with Frank when she should be reading up on the case.

Picking up the file at her desk, she sighs.

Asher notices immediately.

“You know, you look tired today,” he murmurs, and she still doesn't know where he gets all that self-confidence from. It must be a rich boy thing because she doesn't consider him particularly smart or attractive. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a long night. Trouble in paradise? Did that legal aid guy find out you're spending your hours here with Mr. I-sleep-with-the-students?”

She gives him the bitchiest glare she can muster.

“Shouldn't you be off to talk to daddy Millstone? Maybe that way you'd actually have something to contribute to this team, _for_ _once_.”

That does the trick and before she knows it, he's stormed out of the room.

They're not friends, she knows that, but for a split second when Michaela looks up from the file she's reading and grins at her, she thinks they could be.

...

Of course destiny makes sure that today of all days is the day they stay at the office way, way late to dig up everything they possibly can on the sketchy senator supposedly responsible for all of this.

She's lost count of the cups of coffee she's had, but she can hear the blood pumping in her veins, so she'd say it must've been a lot.

They're all a bit worn down by now – she knows they must look frantic. She's pulled her hair back in a messy pony tail and after getting overheated from sleep deprivation, she's taken off her cardigan, leaving her in just a sleeveless black top.

After another hour or so, she notices that everyone else around her has drifted off. She's fighting sleep herself, it's almost three in the morning after all, but she's determined to find something to help this guy out.

She sees Frank walk in and briefly looks around to make sure everybody else is asleep before following him. She catches him just as he's opening the front door.

“Little late to go out, isn't it?”

Even at this time of day, he keeps his cool.

“Worried about me now?” The smug grin is back. “That's cute.”

She's curious, though. No one really knows why he's a part of his team, and she's noticed that he's usually the one running these little special errands for Annalise.

She walks right up to him, stopping only a few inches away from his face.

“You're looking for Rebecca, right?”

He makes some snide comment about Wes putting her up to this.

“Maybe Rebecca's our client and I'm just curious as to what is going on with her.”

He doesn't buy it.

“Nice try.”

Before she gets the chance to respond, he winks at her – actually winks at her! - and leaves the house.

She turns around, about to go back to the pile of papers she's going through, when she sees Bonnie leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway, giving her a look of disapproval.

“With me. Now.”

It doesn't sound like she has a choice. She feels like she did back in high school when she got in trouble for talking in class and the teacher would call her out on it. Adrenaline immediately shoots through her veins, waking her up a bit more.

It becomes pretty clear what this is about when they get to the kitchen and Bonnie crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Stop leading Frank on.”

Of course she tries to deny it. After all, who wouldn't?

“What? Frank and I are just-” That's as far as she gets before Bonnie interrupts her.

“Don't, Laurel. I see the way you look at him. More importantly, I see the way he looks at you.”  
  
She's not sure what to say about all of this. Why does Bonnie even care? If this was about keeping it professional, surely the woman would've just told Annalise and gotten Laurel fired already.

“And let's be honest – it's not Frank a rich girl like you ends up with, is it? And you know that. Hell, that's the fun in it for you.”

Now she can't keep quiet any longer. Bonnie is throwing accusations of her that she's never even thought about. Hell, until yesterday all of this had been harmless flirtation, and she's sure Frank is not stupid enough to think this will lead to something more serious.

“No, that's-” _not true_ , she wants to say but Bonnie won't let her.

“But what sucks is, Frank doesn't know that. That you're just leading him on, letting him believe he has a shot with you and when he finds out he doesn't, that's going to hurt him.”

She's so confused.

“You're becoming a real asset to this team. I would hate for Annalise to find out you were screwing with someone she considers family.”

Is she threatening her now? She's not sure how to respond to that. They share a look, and finally Laurel decides to just leave the room.

Back at her desk, she reaches for her phone, which is buried under a stack of files.

After quickly reassuring Kan that, yes, she's alive and well and hasn't been kidnapped, she clicks on the conversation she had with Frank last night and types out a text.

_'Why exactly is Bonnie telling me to stop leading you on now? Please don't tell me you two are having some twisted affair.'_

It only takes him a minute to reply, so his secret mission can't be all that exciting.

 _'While I love the jealous undertone of that text, I sadly have to disappoint you. Who knows what her motives are – Bon just likes putting people in their place sometimes. .'_  

There's a reason she's not a big texter. She can't read sarcasm and subtext well. Finally, looking at the others passed out in their respective makeshift workspace, she decides it's high time to head home for five hours of well deserved sleep before they go to court tomorrow. 

...

When she knows Bonnie is lurking around the corner somewhere the next day, she tells him she's not into him.

She thinks some part of her, deep down, might even mean it. Because it would just be much easier like that.

The twinkle in his eye tells her he's not really buying any of this, but that's besides the point, because now she's said it out loud and can always reference this moment as proof that she at least tried. It's the law student in her that makes her think about it that way. It's an alibi of sorts, an out she could potentially take.

He walks away from her, seemingly hurt and angry, and she wants to applaud him for that acting job. He's good. She's not even sure all of that was fake. It might just be that he never, ever gets turned down. The thought of taking his giant ego down a notch is oddly pleasant.

She's not surprised in the least when she gets a text from him a few minutes later.

_'That was some Oscar-worthy acting. I bet Bonnie will love that'_

Part of her is mad that he can see right through her like that, because she'd like to think she was very convincing. And she really doesn't want to give Bonnie a reason to corner her like that again. The woman is terrifying. 

_'Very funny. Just stay away from me, at least at the office.'_

(Is it just her or does that sound like an indirect invitation to come see her outside of work? God, she must be going crazy.)

She makes an effort to stop this texting affair they've got going on, goes back to work and doesn't check her phone again until later that night, after Kan picks her up from work and takes her out to dinner.

 _'I'll try... though fate might have other plans.'_ is all his reply says. She chokes on her wine as she reads it, partly because she thinks his confidence is hilarious but also because that just sounded way too over the top. But she knows he'd have no issue saying that to her face, and just the thought of him delivering that terrible line with a smug look on his face gets her a little too excited. This whole overconfidence thing is oddly attractive on him.

“Everything okay?” Kan asks, always the gentleman and she quickly nods, taking a big gulp of water to calm her throat down again.

He takes her hand into his across the table and smiles at her and she feels bile rising in her throat. Kan really doesn't deserve any of this.

Silently, she vows to try harder to be a better girlfriend to him, to put in as much effort as he is.

But then again, she's never been good at lying, not even to herself.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the yearlong wait for this chapter. As I've said before, I'm not really good at updating fast - writer's block loves to show up on my doorstep. Anyway, enjoy!

She decides to ignore him completely, at least for a few days and it works relatively well. Of course she acts professional when they're at the office together but she never acknowledges his attempts to get her to talk about something other than work, even when they find themselves alone together. (Which, she's pretty sure he's trying to accomplish, what with all the times she's had to stay late because Annalise told him to tell her XYZ needs to be done) 

When Laurel sets her mind to something, she can do just about anything. Even ignore Frank, who doesn't actually deserve it – he's collateral damage.

She immerses herself in work, which sounds lame but is actually really, really fun. There's no super high profile clients for them right now, but she likes helping everyone out, even if they're not murderers. (Especially if they're not murderers) They do some trial prep for Rebecca's case, because they've got a hearing for that next week, but even that is pretty easy going at the moment.

The ignoring Frank scheme works out perfectly fine until the friday after their confrontation, when Annalise, against all odds, gives them the night off to quote-on-quote “bond” - there was another petty disagreement between Michaela and Connor which almost cost them a case. She calls them all into her office, even Bonnie and Frank, and tells them to get out of her house – it's not exactly rude, the way she says it, but it's obvious she's had enough of their bullshit. Laurel is inclined to agree – Michaela and Connor need to stop their stupid competition, or else they'll lose much more than just a preliminary hearing.

As if as an afterthought, she tells Frank and Bonnie to tag along to make sure “the kids don't get in any trouble”. Her eyes soften at that and Laurel thinks the woman might even crack a small smile.

Everyone's over the moon, of course, because a night off from doing research is exciting enough on its own, but to have that night fall on a friday of all days? Jackpot! Asher is already talking about banging chicks and how he can bust a move or two when they're walking out of the house. Laurel is trying really, really hard to stay friendly and not roll her eyes at him.

She sticks to Wes' side because he's actually very funny and also very much in love with Rebecca (even if he doesn't realize it himself yet), so she doesn't have to worry about any advances. She  _is_ still dating Kan, so she doubts there'd be many advances directed at her to begin with, but she's not taking any chances.

Bonnie and Michaela volunteer to drive them to the bar they've chosen to go to ('they' being Asher, and no one had any objections), because apparently both of them aren't big drinkers, a story Laurel doesn't buy even a little. People as high strung as those two can't possibly not enjoy letting loose every once in a while.

She ignores the look Frank gives her as he scoots into the backseat of Bonnie's car right after her. She also ignores the triumphant grin he shoots her way when Asher asks Frank if he can move over a little further. She tries but fails to ignore the jolt of excitement that goes through her body when Frank's thigh presses against hers.

She's wearing a skirt and tights, meaning there's a lot less fabric between the two of them than she'd like.

She is so screwed.

They get to the bar – which is quite the trashy place, somehow right up Asher's alley – and find a booth big enough to fit them all. She would love to hit Frank, hard, where it hurts, when he slides into the booth next to her.

Apparently she's not the only one who objects, because Bonnie gives him a warning glance.

“What? We have to mingle with the kids, Bon. Make sure they don't get in any trouble,” his grin is triumphant. Bonnie sighs, shakes her head and moves to address them all.

“So, how about some drinks, people?”

That's more like it.

“Let's get some tequila up in here!” Asher tries to get them to chant TEQUILA without much success. “Okay fine, party poopers, first round's on me,” he says, his demeanor more somber. 

Asher gets up to order their shots and Bonnie moves to accompany him. Laurel is pretty sure he could carry a tray of shot glasses by himself so there's no real reason for her to go with him, but maybe Bonnie just doesn't want to have to listen to Michaela and Connor bicker any longer. Laurel can relate to that. In fact, she'd probably get up herself, if she wasn't boxed in by Michaela and Wes on one side and Frank and Connor on the other.

Michaela and Connor are currently in the middle of a discussion and/or pop quiz about who remembers the most from their undergrad classes, and it's escalating into more of a screaming match, so Wes is trying (and failing) to interfere. 

She's pretty sure at least half of this constant competition they've got going on is actually about Michaela's fiancé but she definitely doesn't want to ask and get pulled into all of this.

Of course Frank would use this opportunity to lean in and whisper in her ear.

“You can't ignore me forever,” he murmurs, his voice low, his hand on her knee. 

She sighs, exasperated.

“I'm pretty sure I can do whatever the hell I want,” she whispers pointedly, while forcefully removing his hand from her knee.

It takes all the willpower she can muster to turn away from him and towards Michaela next to her.

The Michaela vs. Connor screaming match has since turned into a silent glaring contest, and Laurel welcomes the opportunity to get Frank off her back.

“Hey Michaela, I love your jeans. Where'd you get them?” She deserves an Oscar for the feigned interest in her voice.

The girl seems caught off-guard but welcomes the chance to get out of her little duel with Connor.

“Thanks, I-” Laurel zones out on the rest of that sentence. She nods politely and smiles when she deems it appropriate based on Michaela's animated expressions and that's that.

Finally, Bonnie and Asher come back with not one but two trays of shot glasses. 

“Surpriiiiiise, party people, it's a two for one kinda night!!!!” Asher singsongs, and if Laurel didn't know any better, she'd think he'd already had his fair share of the liquor.

Asher plays waiter and sets shot glasses down in front of each of them, reminding them to wait until they all have one to drink it, and there's lime and salt on the table in front of them, but none of that matters to Laurel when he sets a glass down in front of her.

She picks it up and gulps it down, regardless of the protests and fake calls of anger she can hear as the tequila burns down her throat. It feels a lot better than she expects it to; she doesn't even feel the need to wash it down with anything. It's a nice distraction from the sizzling feeling on her knee where Frank's hand had been.

When she notices everyone's stares are directed at her, she licks her lips.

“Sorry, I was thirsty,” she says and laughs, and she can practically feel the vibe around their booth get better, “Here, give me another one.” She motions for Asher to hand over a glass. 

“I guess I've found my drinking buddy for the night.” Connor sneers, but she can sense that he's at least slightly impressed.

As the preparations for the shots they're about to take begin, because apparently everyone else here deems salt and lime a very vital component to tequila drinking, Wes speaks up from his seat next to Michaela's.

“Alright, let's drink to something... Anyone got any ideas?” He gives everyone an encouraging smile.

“What, you all out of ideas, wait list?” She'd expect nothing less of Connor.

What shocks her is that it's Michaela, of all people, who tells him to shut up.

“How about we drink to the Keating five?” She looks around at everyone to see what their reaction to her proposal is.

“Laaaaaaame,” Asher chimes in. “To a night of debauchery and all of the naughty things that are typically part of the normal college experience that we have to miss out on thanks to our crazy work schedule!”

“Fine,” Michaela rolls her eyes in defeat.

“Yeah, okay, let's drink to... Whatever he just said because I'm definitely not repeating that.” Wes gives everyone another encouraging smile and once again, Laurel realizes how accurate the nickname 'puppy' really is for him. “Bonnie, Frank, anything to add?”

“Don't look at me, I'm just here for the booze,” Frank says and if they were anywhere else and without all these other people, Laurel would call him out on that. There's no way her being here isn't at least part of the reason he agreed to be here. Annalise did ask him to come, but he could've gotten out of that. She knows that much. “Alright, for the booze and to see you kids get your freak on.” He chuckles.

Bonnie just nods. 

“Whatever he said.” They all chuckle at that.

It seems apparent that now is the time to raise their glasses.

“Cheers,” Laurel says and is about to raise the glass to her lips when several voices stop her.

“No, no, no, you have to clink glasses with everyone and make eye contact!” Asher says, seemingly appalled at her lack of drinking etiquette. “I mean we all know what it means when you don't make eye contact...”

“Ah, you're one of the believers then?” Connor laughs.

“... What happens when you don't make eye contact? Is this a superstitious thing?” Laurel sighs, anxious to just get to the drinking already. 

“You don't know? Do you ever drink?” Asher is shocked. Well, fake-shocked but shocked nonetheless.

She looks around helplessly, trying to find someone else here who is as clueless as she is.

“I mean, even I know about that one...” Wes clears his throat.

She's had enough of this.

“Can you just clue me in so we can get to the drinking? Because that's what I'm here for.” 

They all turn to look at Asher, who is the obvious choice for explaining this.

“If you don't make eye contact when you clink glasses, it's seven years of bad sex for you,” he says. “And really, even if it's a stupid superstition, do you wanna take that risk?” 

She wants to laugh at how lame he is. 

“Yeah, wouldn't want to take that risk...” Frank murmurs next to her, and she's pretty sure she's the only one who heard it because nobody else mentions it. She steps on his foot under the table to let him know she doesn't appreciate the comment.

“Right, okay, can we drink now?” She raises her shot glass and fakes annoyance as she patiently makes eye contact and clinks glasses with everyone around the table. She avoids Frank as long as she can, but finally he's the last person left in their group she hasn't clinked glasses with.

She can see him turn towards her from the corner of her eye as she does the same. She's glad everyone else is busy clinking glasses with others.

When they're finally facing each other, knees bumping, she makes eye contact. She means for it to be brief, but his gaze is so intense, she's having trouble holding onto the tequila in her hand. 

“Enjoy the next seven years of mediocre sex with your slave from legal aid,” he says under his breath, and she hates him. She does. “If he's still in the picture, that is... I'll be here if you need me.” 

She'd love to come up with a witty comeback to that, but she's completely caught off guard.

“I'm too sober for this, Frank,” she says, and hopes no one overheard her. She clinks her class with his and downs it, without giving it a second thought. 

She'll need a lot more alcohol to get through the night.

“Next round's on me,” she says as she slams her glass on the table. 

The chuckles around her are only fuelling her need for more alcohol. Because these aren't her friends and the guy next to her isn't her boyfriend but she's still weirdly happy to be here with these people. 

And if she doesn't push Frank's hand off her knee right then, it's only because she's busy explaining to the waitress exactly how thin she likes her lime to be cut.

It's definitely not because it's making her feel more buzzed than she could possibly be after two shots of tequila. 

When Kan texts her an hour later, she tells him she's working late and that she'll call him tomorrow, and she wonders when she became such a good liar and such a terrible human being.

...

So, as it turns out Michaela is a funny drunk. Whiny, yes, but also kind of funny.

The two of them are currently having a rather one-sided conversation, in which Michaela is trying to recall a story about some drunken night she had two years ago, but concludes that she simply can't remember, which makes her break into a fit of giggles.

And maybe it's because she's tipsy (not drunk; she prides herself on her alcohol tolerance and there's no way four shots of tequila and two Coronas are enough to get her drunk), but she can't help but laugh along with the girl.   
  
Connor is talking to Asher, which is kind of a hilarious twist to the evening, but they have some weird friendship going on, and it actually kind of works.

Wes is the only one who seems a bit left out, but he's trying his hardest to keep a conversation with Bonnie and Frank going, which mostly consists of him talking, Bonnie nodding attentively as she sips a martini, and Frank looking on, amused, from his seat next to Laurel.

He's sipping on a beer (a real, draft beer because apparently “those frilly Coronas don't do the beard justice”), his knees angled toward her under the pretense of wanting to be a part of the conversation with Wes and Bonnie. 

He's nothing if not resourceful, she'll give him that. He'll keep his hand on her knee, not moving, for a while, until she's almost forgotten it's there, when he'll start to drag it up and down her leg, slowly. It's torture.

She'd love to tell him to stop but her tipsy brain  **A)**   _Does not actually want that_ and  **B)**   _is very aware of how it would look if she turned to him now to tell him off, no matter how quietly she'd say it_. She doesn't want that hanging over her head at work. The title of Frank's girl is bad enough without living up to it.

So she tries her best to focus all of her brain activity towards her conversation with Michaela. 

At one point she zones out on their conversation completely, because his hand has now slipped under her skirt, just high enough to giver her an idea of what he'd actually like to do with it. She's glad she's wearing tights because she doesn't know if she could handle his hand on her bare skin right now. 

She snaps out of it and looks at Michaela, who's giving her a confused look. Something's sparked the girl's interest. 

Laurel groans silently. She knows how to distract Michaela from this, but she never thought she'd resort to these measures.

“Hey Michaela, wanna come to the bathroom with me?” She asks, voice cheerful, making sure everyone around them can hear. She's gonna need him to remove his hand from her thigh  _right now_.

When he doesn't, she grabs it over her skirt without even glancing in his direction, and pushes against it. He seems to get the hint but makes sure to slide it down the inside of her thigh, before finally pulling it away.

Michaela seems less surprised by her asking her to go to the bathroom with her than she thought the girl would be, but she  _is_  pretty drunk, so maybe that's why.

They make their way out of the booth and towards the bathroom, which, despite the dim lighting, is actually not as gloomy and dirty as she thought it'd be. 

A few minutes later, when they're freshening up at the sink, Michaela's random drunk topics of conversation take a turn for the weird. 

“You know, if I was single,” she starts, dabbing at her eye makeup with her pinkie. “I'd have tapped that long ago.”

The fact that Laurel knows who the other girl is talking about is a dead giveaway.

She isn't sure how to react. Luckily for her, she doesn't need to be sure, because her tipsy brain takes over. 

“Yeah, but I'm not,” she says, waiting for Michaela to make eye contact with her in the mirror over the sink. 

“You're not what?” The girl raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Single. I'm not single.”

Michaela chuckles at that. 

“Well, if I were you, I'd change that  _real_  fast. Who needs that boring, brooding, legal aid dude when you can have-” that's when she decides she's heard enough.

“How about we head back out there. They'll be wondering what's taking us so long.”

“Anxious to get back to the hottie with the beard, I see.” The girl murmurs, and Laurel can't help but smile at her slurred words. It's really funny to see someone as uptight as Michaela let her guard down like this.   
  
She walks past Laurel and opens the bathroom door, holding it open.   
  
“And don't think I didn't see his hand on your thigh,” she says, a smirk playing on her lips, as Laurel passes through the door. “I may be drunk, but I'm not blind.” 

They walk back towards their table. 

They're almost back at the booth when Laurel leans in closer to Michaela. 

“You saw nothing,” she whispers, her voice insistent.

Michaela gives her an incredulous look as they sit down and promptly bursts out laughing.

That gets the attention of Asher and Connor.

“What's so funny, lush?” Connor asks.

“Nothing,” Laurel replies automatically.

Michaela just giggles, trying to catch her breath. 

“Hands,” she finally says and keeps laughing.

Connor scoffs. “Hands? Hands are funny? Okay, princess.” He turns to Asher and laughs. “Bitches be crazy, right?”

Asher takes that as encouragement. “Speaking of...” and that's how that conversation ends.

Laurel takes a long sip of her beer and looks around the table, at everyone in their current state of drunkenness. Everyone seems to be in good spirits, mostly thanks to the alcohol, she's sure. It's kind of strange to see all of these people who usually keep their distance from each other be so comfortable with sharing drunken stories and laughter. Even Bonnie has taken to laughing out loud every now and then.

She leans back in her seat and takes the final sip of her beer.

Frank is the first to notice her drink is empty.

“Another round, anyone? I'm buying,” he says, shit-eating grin on his face. She knows what he's trying to do here, and she's pretty sure she'll go along with it. 

His offer is met with lots of positive feedback, so he motions for Connor and Asher to get up so he can get out of the booth. As if as an afterthought, he extends his hand to her, looking down at her. “Wanna help me carry all that beer?”

She meets his eyes and hopes he understands the signals she's sending when she gets up and nods, slapping his hand as if to give him a high five. No matter how drunk everyone else around them may be, she's not taking any chances. She won't hold his hand in front of them. 

She's not fully in control of her body, or else she'd protest when he drags her in the direction of the bathrooms.

Sober her would never let him push her against the wall opposite of the bathroom doors, put his hands on her hips, one brushing the underside of her stomach where her skirt meets her shirt.

But of course she's not sober right now, and she can't say her body is complaining when he leans in close enough for her to count his eyelashes if she wants to, only that's the last thing on her mind.

He seems to be waiting for her to make a move, probably giving her an out if she wants to take it, and the thought of actually walking away now would make her laugh if she didn't think it'd cause her actual physical discomfort. 

So she closes the distance between them and attacks his mouth with her own. That seems to be the reaction he was waiting for, when he grabs her right leg and pulls it up so that it's sitting around his hip. It takes him almost no time at all to open his mouth for her and she's ready to beg him to take her right there, when he pushes her tights and panties aside with his hand.

Well. She can't say that was unexpected. 

She's about to start begging for him to move his hand, because it's just resting against her body, not really moving, when he finally touches her where she needs him to. 

Her stupid tights are digging into her hip from being stretched so tight, and she wishes she wasn't wearing them. In fact, she wishes they weren't in some sketchy bar, in a bathroom hallway, where anyone could walk by at any time. She wishes they were alone, maybe somewhere with a bed or a desk for him to push her onto.

The smirk on his face tells her that he definitely noticed just how wet she is for him. He's still not touching her the way she's craving, only drawing small circles on her clit, and she thinks she'll go insane if he keeps this pace up.

Neither of them has said a word since they left the table and she finds that strangely hot, like they don't even need words to communicate what they want the other to do. 

So instead of telling him she needs more, she pushes herself closer to him, which is almost impossible at this point anyway, and he seems to get the hint, moving his finger faster as he slips two of them inside of her.

She's trying really, really hard not to get them caught but she can't help the sound that comes out of her mouth when she feels his fingers push in and out of her.

He quickly covers her mouth with his to swallow the sounds she's making, and she's having trouble breathing. She knows she's close, and he apparently does, too, because he adds a third finger, pushing her over the edge only seconds later.

After, they're just standing in the hallway like that, her leaning back against the wall, trying to catch her breath, his hand still brushing against her. 

He's watching her face, seemingly to see what's gonna happen next and that's when Laurel snaps out of it. God, she's a horrible person who just threw all of her morality out of the window. She needs to get away from him, right now, or she'll do something even more stupid, like let him take her home. 

So she drags his hand out of her tights, taking in the amused grin on his face, and tries to move away from him, when he boxes her in against the wall. 

She wishes she could say she pushes him away when he kisses her. It's rough, and definitely one of the best kisses she's ever been a part of, but she needs to put an end to it. 

Pulling away from the kiss, she looks at him, eyes both angry and filled with desire.

“This,” she gestures between the two of them, “never happened. Okay?” 

He starts to laugh. She rolls her eyes and moves away from him, towards the women's bathroom door to freshen up.

“But it felt good, didn't it?” He asks smugly, and she hates that he's right. She gives him one last glare before closing the bathroom door behind her.

She's tempted to laugh when she sees herself in the mirror. Her hair is a mess, so she quickly piles it on top of her head in a messy bun. She's happy she wasn't wearing much makeup to begin with, because at least now it's only her mascara that's smudged. She dabs at it with a paper towel before she decides she looks presentable.

She sees him leaning against the bar with two trays in front of him, waiting for her, when she comes back out of the bathroom. Smart. The others would definitely notice if they came back without their drinks.

When she gets there, he puts a shot glass down in front of her. She rolls her eyes.

“What, are you trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me?” 

 _To take advantage of me further_ , she should say, but that would imply that she's acknowledging that their hallway hook up actually happened.

He laughs, and she's still not sure why she finds that smug laugh so damn attractive on him.

“I think we both know that in order for me to take advantage of you, you'd have to actually not want to sleep with me.” She avoids making eye contact with him. “Now, just drink the tequila. Maybe it'll help you forget how I taste.”

She briefly considers throwing the tequila at him, but decides that would be a waste. “Cheers,” she murmurs, before she drinks the tequila. It doesn't even burn her throat. 

“I admire your enthusiasm,” he says, before drinking his own shot. She gives him an incredulous look. They both know he isn't talking about her ability to drink tequila without a chaser.

“Let's just go back over there, they'll be wondering where we've been,” she says, ready to not be alone with him anymore because she can't stand the temptation. She grabs one of the trays and walks away from him before he can reply. 

She's anxious to get back to their booth, hoping no one noticed how long they've been gone. To her surprise, nobody makes as much as a joke about them being alone for so long.

Frank walks back over right after her, makes some remark about the beer and gets everyone to laugh, which she appreciates, if only because it will deter everyone from making comments about the two of them. 

Once they settle back into the booth, she gets involved in the conversation Michaela and Wes are having about Wes' apparent incapability of staying in healthy relationships.

“Tell me about it,” she says, more to herself than to them, but they look her way nonetheless.

“What, things aren't going well with average looking legal aid guy?” Michaela asks, and she can tell the girl has had more alcohol while they were gone by the way her eyes light up whenever she laughs. 

“You have no idea,” Laurel replies, before taking a long sip of her beer – the universal sign for 'I don't want to talk about it'. The fact that Michaela actually respects that and doesn't try and get any more info out of her makes her almost like the girl.

...

They all share cabs home somewhere around three a.m. and the fact that she just so happens to end up in one with Frank does not surprise her. He has a way of making these things happen.

She's drunk at this point, like actually drunk, because they decided they needed more shots – a decision she might regret tomorrow morning, but it feels pretty good right now.

The cab drops Michaela off first, who hugs Laurel goodbye, the alcohol bringing out the friendliness in the girl. She waves goodbye to Frank and tells both of them to have a good night and Laurel hates the obvious wink she directs at her.

As they pull back onto the street, Frank pulls her legs into his lap. They're all alone in the cab now, finally, except for the driver, who's probably seen much worse.

They're only a couple blocks from her apartment now. She finally looks up at him, only to find him looking back at her, staring intently.

“I'm not going home with you,” she says, and she thinks she sees the cab driver listen up at that, probably thrilled for his drama-filled job.

Frank chuckles.

“You're drunk,” he says, like he just noticed, and it makes her laugh.

“Yeah,” she giggles. “I'm drunk.”

She knows how much of a mess she must be – her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head, her clothes ruffled, her posture far from upright.

“It's a good look on you,” he says, just as the cab pulls up to the curb in front of her house. 

She sighs. Why is he making this that much harder on her? It's bad enough that she feels the need to jump his bones whenever she sees him, but to compliment her, sounding like he might actually mean it? Not fair.

She leans over to kiss him goodnight, means for it to be a quick peck, but he holds her there, one hand on her back while the other is on her thigh.

She pulls away reluctantly, pulls her legs off of his legs, where they're currently hanging over his knee, and gets out of the car.

“Good night,” she says, and turns around before she can change her mind and jump back into the car and let him take her home.

...

There's light coming from her bedroom when she locks the door behind her, and no, this can't be happening. She walks into the room and finds Kan in her bed, half asleep with a book on his chest. 

“Hey,” he murmurs as he yawns. “Long night at work, huh? I thought I'd surprise you.”

She's too drunk for this. She can't possibly be trusted to lie right now. Except she's gotten really, really good at lying lately, so it rolls off the tongue rather easily when she tells him how beat she is, but that she'll go take a shower before going to bed, to wash the smell of corrupt lawyers off of her.

He chuckles and nods, tells her he'll be here when she comes back.

She turns the shower onto the hottest setting there is, trying to stop replaying what it felt like to have Frank's hands all over her body in her head. When that doesn't work, she turns it onto the coldest setting possible, hoping to shock her body into forgetting how he'd hoisted her leg up around his waist, how he'd just done whatever the hell he wanted to her in that hallway, not caring one bit that anyone could've walked past them.

She'd let him do all of that, hadn't even tried to protest, and she'd love to blame it on the alcohol, but she's not that good of a liar just yet. The next few years of law school had better teach her this.

When she finally gets out of the shower, she puts her wet hair up in a ponytail and puts on the comfiest pajamas she can find. Then she brushes her teeth, twice, knowing it'd be hopeless to disguise the tequila smell, but figuring it wouldn't hurt to try.

She walks back into her bedroom, turns off the lamp on the bedside table, and gets into bed. Kan feels the bed shift and wraps his hands around her hip, apparently on instinct, because he's fast asleep.

His embrace feels nice and safe, but she thinks she'd honestly be fine if she never got to see him again in her life, and the thought makes her feel so guilty that she scoots a little closer to him.

When she wakes up the next morning to an empty bed, she walks into the kitchen only to find him in there, reading the newspaper. 

He kisses her good morning. “You were out like a light so I figured I'd let you sleep in.”

She smiles, a silent thank you. That's when she notices him looking at her neck.   
  
“What, do I have something there?” She laughs and tries to look down at it, only she can't actually see it from this angle.

He smirks and pushes her into the hallway, until they reach the mirror next to her bathroom door. He stands behind her and pulls her pajama top back a bit to reveal a bite mark.

Alarm bells go off in her head, but Kan seems oddly fine with it. Surely he must know that he wasn't the one who left that mark? She can't even remember when Frank left these on her, probably at some point during their hallway shenanigans, her memory blank aside from the feeling of his hands on her. 

“I barely remember you coming home last night, but it must've been a pretty good time,” he pulls her top back up to cover her collar bone again and turns her around. She smiles up at him and he leans down to kiss her.

She feels like the worst person on the planet, worse than all the murderers she's contributed to defending in the past few months.

But really, who needs a working moral compass when you can have Frank?


End file.
